The Only Exception
by a daughter called random
Summary: These are her last moments and, oh the irony, she is spending them with him. Sylar/Elle one-shot.


**Hello! This is my first ever Heroes fanfiction, and I know Elle hasn't been in the series for ages but I just heard this song and it reminded me of them. ****If any of my Vanilla Twilight readers are reading this, don't feel betrayed. I am writing that again, it's just this was quick and..yeah. **

**I do not own Heroes. The song "The Only Exception" is Paramore's. **

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* * *

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Maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul that love never lasts.  
And we've got to find other ways to make it alone, and keep a straight face.  
I've always lived like this, keeping a comfortable distance.  
And up until now I had sworn to myself that I'm content with loneliness.  
Because none of it was ever worth the risk.

_Well, you are the only exception._

* * *

Sylar isn't too sure how he feels right now. Right in this very moment. Which is disconcerting because he always knows how he feels. That's why he is always so blasé.

Normally, when he does this, he is filled with a euphoric sense of achievement. A delicious, if not somewhat cracked, anticipation. Cracked, as in, _let's crack open this skull and run away with all the nice gooey insides. _That kind of cracked.

And he _does_ feel that way, sort of. But the feeling isn't an all-consuming triumphant feeling; more of a tingling. A "Yes-very-well-done-would-you-like-a-gold-star?" tingling. One thing he does feel is anger. A lot of anger. _Fury._

Because he was having a damn jolly time on the floor in the Canfield House with the girl below him now and then _Noah Bennet_ had to go and cap her in the arse with a _bullet_. And ruin everything.

Of course, he can feel the ever-present Hunger. Like his own personal brand of heroin, calling to him seductively. A boiling, relentless, senseless, starving need within him. He wants it. He wants it so, so badly. So why is he stalling?

He thinks it's because she could be an exception. _The only exception._ Ever. Because she was his angel. The angel with a broken watch and a broken life. And, he supposes, she did _try_. Even if she was mainly egged on by the very man who sent a ball of metal singing into her backside, he did think - just in some of the little moments- that, really, _truly _he did lov-

But this is _her_ fault. His omnipresent addiction for abilities. That's all her. His irrepressible temper only increases when he hears a small, timid voice, the voice of a watchmaker, somewhere deep in the niggles of his warped mind, frantically trying to reason with him.

_Don't do it_, Gabriel Gray says.

But he isn't listening. He is going to do it. And she can see it, in his black eyes. Nothing in heaven or Earth – or Hell, for that matter- will stop him. And her face, so elfin and pretty, is terrified. And slightly heartbroken.

Heartbroken - why is she...? He raises his hand and she flinches. He caresses her face, tenderly, mockingly and she closes her eyes, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. _Oh Elle_, he thinks, _you silly beautiful girl..._

The voice in his head is more reproachful now, disapproving, disgusted. But still scared, still insignificant, he still won't adhere to it. _She gave you her heart, _Gabriel insists.

Now that twinges a nerve, just a little bit. But it is quickly forgotten as he smiled to himself. It may be true that yes, she _did_ give him her heart.

But Sylar wants her brain.

* * *

Don't cry. That's what Elle keeps telling herself. _Just. Don't. Cry._

She's being pretty brave, she feels, considering…

Considering there is a bullet wound in her thigh and she is wearing a man's shirt. Considering she thought he cared and he is giving her that smirk that plainly tells her he does _not_. Considering that he is crushing her and she can feel blood dripping down her leg and into the sand.

She has never felt so alone. So lost. _So confused._ Even when she found out what her father did to her, what Glasses and his lovely little cheerleader did to her, she never hurt this much.

She remembers it so well, when they first met. Even if Bennet had forced her upon him and him upon her, it was still _nice_.

_"I made you a peach pie."_

_"Huh, that's my favourite."_

She still remembers how her heart swelled up in her throat when he gave her a quirky, surprised little smile. She remembers the butterflies in her stomach when his eyes lit up at the very sight of her at his door.

She remembers the look on his face when Trevor Zeitlan was exploding glasses, miming shooting a bullet from a gun. That ravenous look. The look that turned into rage. Rage at _her_. She still feels her back slamming against the wall as he tossed her telekinetically. His look of irrevocable hatred as she rushed for the door in fright for her life. She still hears Trevor's piercing scream as she sprinted for Bennet's van.

She knew it then. That he would and could never change. A killer he was and a killer he was born to be. And she had_ loved_ him. She had. And she doesn't want to die. She doesn't want_ him_ to kill her. _Anyone else_, just not Gabr- sorry, just not _Sylar_.

Because that is, if she is painfully honest with herself, who he is. He will never be Gabriel Gray again. Not _her_ Gabriel Gray. With the peach pie and their indoor picnics and those _god-awful glasses._

She recoils when his fingers touch her face and his eyes almost soften. She wants to lean into his hand but suddenly, she feels his nail tracing a faint line on her forehead. She almost squeaks in horror and clamps her eyes shut. She desperately holds back the flow of tears that threaten to spill over her cheek… she realises these are her last moments. And, _oh the irony_, she is spending them with him!

She is sorely tempted to say, _Goodbye Gabriel_, just to see if it unnerves him. But she doesn't, because she is afraid her voice will betray some of the adoration she feels for him, and she won't give him _that_ kind of satisfaction.

Elle's teeth very nearly bit her lip in two as she feels the warm tendrils of blood running into her eyes. She ignores the pain -_the bewildering, excruciating pain_- because this is her chance to say it. To say anything, to tell him anything. Three words. Eight letters. One breath. That's all she needs. But it's all too late.

_Never show care for anyone but yourself, _her father once told her.

Sylar will not be the only exception.


End file.
